


Strange Miracle

by Ardatli



Series: Profs!AU [4]
Category: Young Avengers
Genre: Anal Sex, Established Relationship, M/M, PWP, Stand-alone, Topping from the Bottom, gratuitous abuse of critical theory, toppy!Billy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-01
Updated: 2013-04-01
Packaged: 2017-12-07 03:21:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/743608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ardatli/pseuds/Ardatli
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Teddy’s hand was back on Billy’s leg, and slowly working its way up his thigh. Teddy shifted a little where he sat, but the expression on his face was so totally innocent that Billy almost believed it. Teddy moistened his lips and his gaze flickered down to Billy’s mouth for a second before he answered. “Aren’t you veering into lit-crit just a tad?” he asked, one eyebrow up.</p>
<p>“It’s – uh-“ Teddy’s hand had reached Billy’s hip, and his fingertips pressed gently into the curve of his ass. “It is a literary work,” Billy pointed out, fighting to keep from grinning. If this was how Teddy was going to play it, Billy wasn’t going to be the one to crack first.</p>
<p>
  <i>(Part of Profs!AU, but there is zero background required other than to note that Billy and Teddy are history professors.)</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strange Miracle

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DangerousCommieSubversive](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DangerousCommieSubversive/gifts).



> A fill for a prompt from DangerousCommieSubversive: _Is it bad that next I want to read about them getting busy while having a serious academic discussion? Because that would be super hot._
> 
> Here you go. I’m only sorry that it took so long!
> 
> Betaed by the wonderful feebleapb and xandertheundead!

 

"Now Hear of a Strange Miracle": The role of the critical subjunctive in the transformation of the alienated self-state[1]

_…_

_The presence of the holy man, on the other hand, is suggestive of similar instances in the writings of Nennius, and his descriptions of Arthur manifesting the image of the Virgin Mary as a sign of his inherently blessed nature-_

Billy slowed to a stop, fingers resting lightly on the keys of his laptop, and frowned at the computer screen. _Footnote this later,_ he flagged the point, then cracked his neck with a sigh and a groan. His papers and books were spread out around him on the couch, the coffee table and the floor in expanding concentric circles – what Teddy constantly referred to his ‘area effect spell’- and he really, really couldn’t be bothered to break his flow and go hunting through the stack for the right citation.

The late afternoon sun filtered in through the half-closed shades, the warmth making him feel lazier than he should. A shadow fell across his screen and Billy glanced up, a ready smile on his lips. “I’m almost done,” he promised, and took the glass of cola that Teddy held out for him. “Thank you."

“That’s what you said an hour ago, slacker,” Teddy reminded him, but he was smiling and shifting a stack of article printouts over to the coffee table. He dropped down onto the couch beside Billy, his own glass in hand.

“I’m not slacking. I’m proving my point,” Billy corrected him, and shoved his glasses up his nose again with the back of his hand. Bubbles prickled lightly on his tongue when he drank, and Teddy’s mouth was fizzy when he kissed him. “I’m on a roll, here.”

“What chapter are you working on?” Teddy leaned over and rested his chin on Billy’s shoulder. The tip of his nose brushed Billy’s ear, accidentally at first, but the trails of hot breath down the back of his neck were definitely not.

“The Constantinople apparition,” Billy waved his hand in the general direction of his screen, Teddy’s hand was resting on his thigh and he was tracing lazy circles over the denim of Billy’s jeans, a slow drag across his leg that was insanely distracting. “The Fourth Crusade piece from 1204.”

“The Villehardouin miracle man?” Teddy wrinkled his nose at the reminder. “You’re not taking him seriously, are you?”[2]

“And why not?” Billy half-assed a glare at Teddy over the rims of his glasses. “Everything else in the Chronicle is reasonably substantiated; why assume that this one section is a fabrication just because it doesn’t dovetail with what we expect to find? The thirteenth century perspective certainly allowed for the existence of miracles, as well as miracle-workers.”[3]

Teddy snorted and sat back, the warmth of his hand lingering on Billy’s leg. “So just because they believed in it, it happened? That’s a spurious basis for an argument,” he pointed out with the simultaneously endearing and irritatingly bland-faced way that he had of debating.

“No,” Billy corrected him, setting his laptop down on the table and curling a knee under him. He turned to face Teddy on the couch, and caught the edge of a smug grin before Teddy got his debate-face back on. Now what had _that_ been about?

“Because they believed in it, it doesn’t _matter_ whether it happened or not. Scientifically,” he drawled out the word a little sarcastically, and Mr. Enlightenment grinned at him, “we know that there couldn’t possibly have been a guy hanging out at the siege of Constantinople who could call down lightning and heal the wounded. But the surprise appearance of a miracle-man in the chronicle at that particular point bespeaks a certain amount of tension present in the narrative.” [4]

Teddy’s hand was back on Billy’s leg, and slowly working its way up his thigh. Teddy shifted a little where he sat, but the expression on his face was so totally innocent that Billy almost believed it. Teddy moistened his lips and his gaze flickered down to Billy’s mouth for a second before he answered. “Aren’t you veering into lit-crit just a tad?” he asked, one eyebrow up.

“It’s – uh-“ Teddy’s hand had reached Billy’s hip, and his fingertips pressed gently into the curve of his ass. “It _is_ a literary work,” Billy pointed out, fighting to keep from grinning. If this was how Teddy was going to play it, Billy wasn’t going to be the one to crack first. “Why shouldn’t I treat it like one? Claire Sponsler’s book has a whole piece on rural-urban tensions manifesting as rural theatre productions of the Robin Hood stories-“ [5]

Teddy stopped running his fingers up under the hem of Billy’s shirt, his fingertips warm where they hovered just above the sensitive skin of Billy’s stomach. He frowned. “Is that the paper where she tries to redefine cross-dressing to include economic lines as well as gendered ones? She’s a structuralist nutcase,” Teddy finished dismissively.[6]

He didn’t wait for Billy to reply, dropping his head quickly to tongue at Billy’s nipple through the thin cotton of his t-shirt. Billy’s nipples hardened at the contact, his skin drawing tight and heat beginning to flush in his cheeks.

“Hng,” Billy said succinctly, tipping his chin up despite himself to give Teddy better access. “She makes some valid points about the role of the transgressor as a safe outlet for structural tension,” he managed to get out, despite the rapid flickers of Teddy’s tongue. He was more than a little bit proud of himself for saying it all without losing his train of thought.

Teddy’s mouth was liquid fire, the drag of the wet fabric an added layer of sensation across his already-sensitive skin. Billy gave up on the pretense of self-control and sunk his fingers into Teddy’s hair, the scattered sunbeams turning his hair into gold that spilled over Billy’s hands.  

“I was thinking of a different sort of tension release,” Teddy murmured into Billy’s chest, and ran his hands down along Billy’s arms. Billy pulled him up for a proper kiss, their tongues sliding against each other in a way that was both amazingly familiar and breathtakingly new each time.

Billy pulled his hands forward and grabbed Teddy’s sides. They tussled for a moment, laughing, and when they settled again, Teddy was straddling Billy’s lap and looking far too pleased with himself. His thighs bracketed Billy’s hips, his hands braced on the back of the couch on either side of Billy’s head. Teddy was solid, not heavy, but taut and strong and broad-shouldered; he was a statue made flesh.

It still struck Billy sometimes, like that proverbial miracle lightning; Teddy was _his_. He was allowed – no, _encouraged_ – to touch and kiss and taste and hold him, and feel Teddy’s skin against his own.

He did so. Teddy’s arms trembled a tiny, almost imperceptible amount when Billy skated his hands along them, tracing every perfect muscle and line of his body. The throb in Billy’s groin answered Teddy’s trembling; he was half-hard already and the blood was pulsing faster in his ears, and _God._

How had _he,_ regular old Bill Kaplan, ended up with this beautiful man?

Teddy kissed down his neck, his lips hot and dry, just a hint of damp breath accompanying the pressure of his mouth.

 “If this is how you win arguments,” Billy couldn’t resist the tease; “you must be very exciting company at conferences.”

Teddy sat up and took off Billy’s glasses, turned to put them on the coffee table with their sodas. The world went fuzzy around the edges. “I don’t need tricks when you’re just plain wrong,” he advised sagely, and Billy drove his knee up slightly into Teddy’s buttock in retaliation.

He got his hands up under the hem of Teddy’s t-shirt and pulled it up and over his head in one swift motion. The broad expanse of his chest was right there, and Billy splayed his hands out across his stomach and his pecs, licked and sucked at the pink nub of his nipple. Teddy groaned, and his hand worked at Billy’s belt, his knuckles rubbing against Billy’s cock. He was fully hard now, everything heavy and throbbing, and when Teddy rolled his hips down against Billy, it was amazingly obvious that he was in the same state.

The belt went fast, and then his buttons and zipper. Billy sucked and kissed at Teddy’s shoulder, then Teddy slipped his hand inside Billy’s boxers and closed his fingers around Billy’s cock. He bit down in surprise; his hips came up and he thrust into Teddy’s hand with a desperate whimper.

Teddy yelped at the teeth. Billy let go and dropped his head back against the backrest of the couch, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. Teddy’s shoulder was already purpling a little with the mark he’d left there, and he worked his hand along Billy’s cock with strong, sure strokes.

“I think it’s just as likely,” Teddy continued conversationally. Billy palmed him through his jeans and lifted his head to bite and tongue at his shoulder again. Teddy sucked in breath and bit at his own bottom lip, his breathing settling back down to something more regular after a moment. “That it’s more appropriate to assume that Villehardouin was writing for a specific political audience, than guessing at some kind of deeply ingrained psychological motivation that can’t be proven in the historical record _anyway_. Having a legitimate miracle proves divine support, and removes real-world responsibility from the leadership. ‘God helped us do it, QED.’” [7]

How the hell did he do that? Billy was having a hard time remembering his own name, with the way Teddy’s fingertips were playing along the underside of his shaft, teasing along the vein, trailing through the pre-come starting to bead up at the tip. “I mean that – hnnnnnggg –“ Teddy twisted his palm over the head of Billy’s cock, and he gave up entirely. “... I forget.”

“Cogent argument,” Teddy teased, and leaned in to kiss him. Billy kissed him back with desperation, rubbing his thumbs across Teddy’s nipples in an effort to get him to falter. “Ahhhh,” Teddy gasped. “Very sound rebuttal.”

“I don’t normally have a 6' blond god straddling my lap while I try to present my case,” Billy murmured, and kissed him again. Teddy’s zipper was right _there_ , and Billy ran his fingers down the hard bulge, through the fabric. Teddy keened and bucked into his hand before Billy got his zipper down.

He was going commando, the jerk, the incredibly silk-soft skin of his cock already under Billy’s fingers, and Billy just about came from that surprise alone.

“Too bad,” Teddy muttered into his mouth, his hips rocking up against Billy and his cock thick and hot in Billy’s hand. He was flushed in the face, but whether that was solely from arousal or embarrassment at the compliment, Billy couldn’t be entirely sure. “That would make grad/fac seminars a lot more interesting.”

Then he let go, and Billy whined a little in the back of his throat at the loss of the heat and friction. He squeezed Teddy’s dick a little more tightly in reaction, tried to tug him back down, and cupped his hands  around the firm roundness of his ass. Teddy stopped moving at that, pants shoved halfway down around his thighs, and his eyes had shaded into dark blue with lust and want. Billy kissed him, sucked on his lower lip, and he was the one with the upper hand now. He slid his hand around further, intending to circle Teddy’s hole, push him a little further into incoherence-

Teddy was slick already, a little loose, and he rocked down onto Billy’s finger to take him partway in before Billy could manage much more than a single feather-light touch. Teddy’s body was tight and hot around him, slippery with lube and holy _hell_. It was almost impossible to catch his breath, and the lightning bolt of fierce arousal that shot through him sent his heart racing faster than ever.

“You are actively trying to kill me,” Billy accused him. Teddy rocked down onto his finger again and cut off his protest with a laugh. “You prepped already?”

“What did you think I was doing while you were messing around with your chapter?” Teddy lifted up again as he spoke and Billy slid another finger in beside the first. Teddy arched into him and groaned, then bit his earlobe. “Isn’t this more fun than trying to make Story-time with Sir Geoffrey make logical sense?”

Billy mouthed at Teddy’s collarbone, the brush of Teddy’s stomach against his cock tantalizing and nowhere near enough contact. He tasted of salt, a thin sheen of sweat making his neck and shoulders damp, and Billy ran the flat of his tongue along the powerful line of muscle there, tasting it all.

But he had his source to defend. “He was writing a theoretically factual Chronicle,” Billy replied after a moment, his thoughts fragmenting under the slide of their bodies together, the incredible heat of Teddy clenched around his fingers, and if he crooked them just there- Teddy let out a deeply satisfying moan that went straight to Billy’s dick, as if he could possibly get any harder than he already was.

Teddy _was_ going to kill him, but at least he would die an incredibly happy man.

“If he just made something up whole cloth,” Billy managed to say, as Teddy lifted off with a heavy sigh. He fumbled in his pocket for a second, then stuck the condom packet between his teeth to tear off the corner. “Jesus _Christ_ , Teddy. There were plenty of other survivors around to contradict his account. It makes much more sense if we accept it as a kind of shared delusion, manifested in a time of extreme stress, projecting ah – projecting a – hnnng. A deep desire for divine intervention in what was an extremely dark hour-oh my _god._ ”

“Speaking of shared delusions. You sound like the anthropology department.” Teddy sank down on him, long and sweet and slow. His pants were on the floor and the empty foil packet was somewhere on the couch. The heat of his body was everywhere and Billy was deep inside him and holy _fuck_ , what were words?

“If you start talking about liminality,” Teddy continued, his voice shaky and his head thrown back. He was tight, so tight, despite everything, and it had to be sore. He breathed out and settled and his body loosened a little, sank down just that much further. “I’m gonna go jerk off in the bathroom instead,” he finished, looking smug.[8]

“You wouldn’t,” Billy grabbed for Teddy’s hips and held him in place, just in case he actually would. He snapped his hips up and Teddy swore, grabbing for the back of the couch again with both hands.

Everything was Teddy and the place where their bodies locked together; Billy got one hand in between and wrapped it around Teddy’s cock, stroking him slowly at first, then faster, in time with the rhythm of their hips. “And- _fuck –_ if the fighters on the ground believed-“ Teddy kissed him and slid his tongue inside Billy’s mouth. Billy opened for him, tipped his chin up and let Teddy ride him. He wasn’t going to last long, not like this, with one hand around Teddy’s cock and the other guiding his hip, Teddy’s thighs flexing as he fucked himself on Billy, Teddy’s lower lip caught for a second between Billy’s teeth.

Teddy laughed and kissed him again, leaned his head back and bared his throat. Billy sucked at the skin, left a trail of little red marks down the tendon to his shoulder. “The point,” Teddy said, and Billy dug his nails into Teddy’s hip, tried to break his concentration. He hitched his hips and thrust faster, but the change in rhythm barely threw him. “Isn’t – _hnnng -_ what the fighters on the ground thought; the point is – _god yes, just like that_ –what his intended audience would get from the story. _Fuck Billy, right there. Right there._  It’s their paradigm – _hah!_ \- that needs to be considered-”

Billy snapped his hips up and Teddy let out a shuddering cry. He convulsed around Billy, spilled over Billy’s hand, stomach and chest. He was tight around him and so brilliantly hot and sweet. He mouthed desperately at Billy’s shoulder as Billy fucked him through the aftershocks, a sting blossoming there under the edge of his teeth.

Billy moaned, rocked up into him again and again, and again. He wiped his hand off on his own pants, still lodged somewhere around his upper thighs, and grabbed both of Teddy’s hips. He fucked up into Teddy, into the slick/wet/heat of his body, and there was the edge, and he was falling over it. “How very _– hahhhh-_ Foucauldian of you.” [9]

Billy thrust up one last time and hung on to Teddy’s hips for purchase, the lightning flaring down his spine and out along every limb. His head banged back against the couch and he saw stars. The rush of orgasm slowly ebbed, leaving him loose-limbed and heavy as it began to fade.

 “Postmodernism is a crock,” Teddy muttered into the crook of Billy’s neck, his body limp and sweaty. He wrapped his arms and legs around Billy and held him close, Billy’s cock still inside him.[10]

Billy groaned, then scattered kisses down Teddy’s jaw, his neck where little rows of red bruises were beginning to develop, down to his shoulder. He shifted just enough to slide out, fumbled with the condom and pitched it somewhere in the direction of the waste paper basket. “ _Marxist_.” [11]

“Revisionist,” Teddy corrected him, then wrapped his arms back around Billy and pulled him sideways. They landed together on the couch, Billy’s notebook crumpled somewhere under his hip. Teddy nuzzled him and sighed with deep contentment, a noise that matched the sweet lethargy seeping through Billy’s body and his brain. “Now shush. I’m afterglowing.”[12]

[13]

  


* * *

[1]The critical subjunctive is a real thing, just for the record: it is the state of 'ought to be' / ‘should’ rather than 'is.' The quote is from Villehardouin, stanza 46 (see footnote 3). The rest of Billy's title is utter twaddle.↑

[2] Villehardouin is a real chronicler, but the references to a holy man present at the siege of Constantinople are fictional. ↑

[3] Villehardouin, Geoffroi de, Jean Joinville, and Frank T. Marzials. _Chronicles of the Crusades._ Mineola, N.Y.: Dover Publications, 2007. http://www.fordham.edu/halsall/basis/villehardouin.asp ↑

[4] See _The Dale Cycle_ , Ardatli. Archive of our Own: AO3. 2013. [http://archiveofourown.org/series/38743](../series/38743) ↑

[5] Sponsler, Claire. _Drama and Resistance: Bodies, Goods, and Theatricality in Late Medieval England._ Minneapolis, Minn: University of Minnesota Press, 1997. ↑

[6] Structuralism: A critical theory that seeks to expose ‘deep structures’ working beneath human culture and society that necessarily shape all our beliefs and interactions. Aka, ‘culture has natural laws, and we are all but repeating motifs in the great tapestry of life...’ Sponsler’s not really a structuralist, or a nutcase, and if you don’t mind PoMo jargon, her book is very thought-provoking. Just for the record. ↑

[7] I should add a source for this theory, because I’m sure it’s been argued before in many other contexts, but in the immortal words of Aristophanes, I can't be arsed. If challenged, I will claim that this falls under common sense / general knowledge, and what do you _mean_ you've never heard it before? ↑

[8] Liminality: A condition of being ‘between’ two set states, often in a ritual context (a bride is in a liminal phase between single and married, for instance; an ambiguous status resolved by the wedding ceremony.) ↑

[9] Michel Foucault, the father of post-modernism. <http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Michel_Foucault> ↑

[10] Postmodernism: The least understood and most mis-applied of all modern critical theories. One of the main theories in postmodern thought is the lack of existence of absolute truth – that all so-called ‘facts’ are inherently biased and have to be evaluated based on the ‘lens’ (worldview / background / ‘deep structures’) of both the giver of the fact and the recipient. Basically, your worldview (paradigm) determines how you are able to understand information.

Sort of. ↑

[11] Marxism: Classical Marxism considers social change to be linear – that every society will naturally progress along the same path, and the only variables are how and when the next set of expected changes are going to be triggered. ↑

[12] Revisionism: A theory which emphasizes the unique role of individuals in the course of history. The core concept is the rejection of theories of natural trends or ‘deep structures,’ and a focus on the individual personalities and ambitions which created particular historical circumstances and outcomes. (ie. ‘If Charles I had not been king, would the English Civil War have taken place?’) ↑

[13] I’m so sorry.  ↑


End file.
